


The King, The Prince and The Consort

by serenbach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Smut, royal weddings are difficult to plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erebor is reclaimed, but that doesn't mean that the job of being king is an easy one, not least because every other dwarf under the mountain seems to want to have a say in his upcoming wedding. </p><p>Fortunately for Thorin, what awaits him in his rooms when the day is done makes everything seem so much easier.</p><p>Sometimes he is still surprised by his own happiness, but Bilbo and Dwalin enjoy surprising him, so that's alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King, The Prince and The Consort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/gifts).



> For the lovely diemarysues, who got me into this ot3 in the first place! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you as ever to my wonderful beta.

Thorin nodded at the guards who opened the doors of the royal residence for him, waiting until he was inside to sigh wearily and remove his crown. Even though Erebor was won, it was only the beginning of all the work that they would have to do to make it a thriving kingdom as it had been before.

Thorin was only too glad to have this goal to work for, but that doesn't mean that the job of being king was an easy one, as his long, long day of dealing with the many competing guilds and council members of Erebor, and overseeing the plans of further renovations within the mountain all attested.  

But as he entered his rooms, he could feel the warmth of an already lit fire, smell the aroma of a meal already prepared, and could hear low voices in conversation within, and felt himself smile, the cares of the day already melting away.

He walked into the main chamber of his rooms, quietly enough that he was unnoticed. Bilbo was sat in his usual armchair, close to the fire, a book open in his lap, although he was not reading it. Dwalin had seated himself nearby, the polishing cloths for his weapons unmoving in his hands as he listened to Bilbo.  

“Good evening,” Thorin said as he dropped his crown carelessly on its stand, making them both look up.

“Hello, dear,” Bilbo replied with a smile, and Dwalin nodded a brief greeting to him, his eyes warm. The combination of both of those things made Thorin feel like blushing; for all that he should be used to it by now. He shrugged out of his outer fur robes in an attempt to distract them from his embarrassment. By the amusement on both their faces he hadn’t managed to avoid it. 

Thorin had never allowed himself to think of what his life in Erebor could one day be like. He’d never thought past reclaiming the mountain. If he were fully honest with himself, he’d never thought he would live to see it, and he certainly never thought he’d have _this_ – Bilbo and Dwalin, waiting for him in their chambers to have supper together.

After he’d unexpectedly awoken after his battle with Azog, he’d only just managed to register his nephew’s snuffling breaths on either side of him, before pain (and no small amount of relief) dragged him back into unconsciousness again.

He’d woken again for only brief moments after that, just long enough to make sure that his sister-sons were still recovering well, that the rebuilding was underway, and to exchange tired words (and once with Thranduil, insults) with whoever was in his tent caring for him. It was usually Oin, but Bilbo and Dwalin were there more often than most. Thorin was too tired to dwell much on how much that meant to him.  

It was after he had become well enough for idleness to chafe that he started to overthink what their constant company could mean.

Dwalin had been a familiar presence in his life for almost as long as he could remember, although Thorin had supressed feelings other than friendship for him for almost as long as that. His people, his duty came first, and the fact that Dwalin understood that as deeply as Thorin did was one of the many reasons that Thorin loved him.

As for Bilbo, he’d surprised Thorin and confounded his expectations in every way imaginable, and it wasn’t long before Thorin found himself quietly longing for Bilbo too.

But he’d also seen the way that they interacted with each other while he was in the healing tent, the fond way that Bilbo would speak to Dwalin, the careful way that Dwalin would wake Bilbo if he’d fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position, and he’d felt…

Well, it didn’t matter how he felt. They’d obviously become closer during their journey. They had bonded through battles and danger, and because of his gold-sickness and his long recovery. Thorin just hoped that they would find happiness with each other, because they both deserved it. He was lucky that they still considered him a friend after his words and deeds towards them, and he had no right to long for anything else from either of them.

And so he said nothing, despite the new ache in his chest that was not caused by Azog’s mace, not knowing that Bilbo and Dwalin felt the same about him, and about each other.

Things would have probably never changed if Bilbo hadn’t cooked him and Dwalin a special meal in an attempt to get them to spend some time alone (because, in his later words, “you are both hopeless at this but apparently so am I,”) despite his own assumedly unrequited love for them both. They of course had both insisted on him staying and eating with them, and the next morning the three of them had awoken in Thorin’s rather large bed, still mostly clothed, but with no more confusion or concealed feelings between them.     

That had been half a year ago, and sometimes Thorin was still surprised by his own happiness.

“Where have you been?” Dwalin grumbled, more out of habit than any real annoyance. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“You could have started without me,” Thorin observed, coming to sit at the table.

“No we couldn’t,” Dwalin said pointedly, Bilbo nodding emphatically at his side.

The ate most of their meals with the Company, or in the communal dining hall, or in meetings, or on work sites around Erebor, all cooked and served by the ever-expanding kitchen staff.

Supper was different. Supper was cooked by Bilbo, at his insistence, even if they ended up having it closer to a late night snack than an evening meal. Supper was just for the three of them, and in six months they had never missed a meal.

“What did take you so long?” Bilbo asked, as he dished up the chicken pie with roast potatoes (and vegetables, though a bare minimum of those on Dwalin’s plate, and not that much more on his).  

“The council,” Thorin said, burning his tongue on his first mouthful of pie. “They had some _questions_ about the wedding.” There had been squabbling demands rather than questions asked, and by his tone Bilbo and Dwalin knew it too.  

Dwalin snorted into the pastry, ignoring the spray of crumbs and Bilbo’s resulting frown. “What’s it got to do with them anyway?” he demanded. “I’ve already made my vows to the both of you. The rest of it is just – _fuss._ ”

“I think that’s rather the point,” Bilbo observed, but even though he actually quite enjoyed the details of the wedding planning (the seating plan he had drawn up for the ceremony, coronation and feast, perfectly juggling the many different factions as well as visiting elves and men, was regarded by Balin and Dori as a thing of beauty), he looked a little put out. He disliked the court debates and arguments about their wedding as much as Dwalin did.   

While it was rare for a dwarf to find his heart’s call with more than one person, he was certainly not the first, not even the first king, to do so. There was even a precedent for a king to take two spouses, with the typical roles of the royal spouse divided between them and agreed by signed contract to prevent any future difficulties.

It hadn’t taken much conversation between the three of them to decide that Bilbo was more than happy to focus on the more diplomatic duties and Dwalin the military ones. The only thing that they still debated was what their titles should be.

Bilbo and Dwalin still had spirited debates on which one of them would be called Prince, and which would be called Consort, with no firm victory on either side. There was still another half a year to go before the wedding, however, and Thorin was content to watch from a safe distance, occasionally cheering them on while they argued the matter. There was little difference between the roles aside from the title, and Thorin knew that they would excel at their official duties.  

He was still just overwhelmed at the knowledge that they both wanted to entwine their lives with his, even if the council was bogged down with a hundred tiny details that seemed unimportant in the face of that.

“What else did they want?” Bilbo asked, taking a sip of his ale.

“There was some dispute between the guilds about how equally represented their crafts are on the day,” Thorin said with a sigh, remembering the headache the meeting gave him.

“They are still not happy that Dori has sole control over the wedding outfits then?” Bilbo said thoughtfully.

“Or the lads the jewellery,” Dwalin guessed with a frown of his own. He wasn’t bothered about the jewellery itself, Thorin knew, but because Fili and Kili would be disappointed if they would not be allowed to make the coronets and the rings that Bilbo said was a hobbit tradition. He and Dwalin, of course, would of course be making their own marriage beads (and he strongly suspected Fili and Kili would be helping Bilbo with his).  

“Exactly,” Thorin confirmed, scraping up the last morsels of his pie.  

“We’ll come to the council meeting with you tomorrow, if you like,” Bilbo said, with the blandly polite smile he used to conceal the fact that he was actually thinking of something quite devious. “We’ll bring Dori, as well. Let’s see the guild leaders tell _him_ that he can’t make out wedding clothes.”

Thorin laughed at the thought. “I can’t imagine them telling him that at all,” he agreed.

“Or we could just elope to the Shire,” Dwalin pointed out, not for the first time. He’d been bringing up the suggestion since Bilbo had mentioned all the sweet desserts involved in a Shire wedding.

He was joking, Thorin knew, as it got the same reaction out of Bilbo every time. Mostly joking, anyway, since the one part of the wedding he was truly interested in planning was the feast.  

“But then we would have to deal with my relations,” Bilbo exclaimed, waving his hands fiercely. “If you think that the fuss the nobles and guilds make here is bad, it’s only because you haven’t met the Baggins, Tooks and Brandybucks, who would all have very different ideas of how they would want my wedding to go, not to mention the Sackville-Baggins, who would try to stop it from taking place! No, no, no, we’re much better off in Erebor.”

“We are having a feast here as well, you know,” Thorin commented dryly to him. “In the mountain we spent a century trying to reclaim.”

Dwalin sighed wistfully, his mouth twitching. “But the pastries, and cakes, and _cookies_ …”   

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the sweets you like, Dwalin,” Bilbo promised with a teasing smile, and suddenly was Dwalin’s turn to blush, the top of his head turning rosy pink.

Later, after they had all cleared up, they all curled up on the rug in front of the fire. There was no more talk of the wedding; it was just the three of them, Thorin trying to outdo Bilbo’s smoke rings, and Dwalin just rolling his eyes at them as he puffed steadily at his own pipe.

Thorin sighed in contentment, and leaned more heavily against Dwalin, who shifted to better accommodate him. Bilbo gently removed his pipe from his hand, ignoring his grumbles. “Are you falling asleep?” he asked, his voice warm and amused.

“No,” Thorin replied, feeling too comfortable and lazy to try and reclaim his pipe. “I’m just happy.”

Dwalin twisted around and kissed him at that admission, while Bilbo patted his leg. As his kiss with Dwalin got more passionate, Bilbo’s petting turned from a barely there touch to a firm caress, and suddenly Thorin wasn’t feeling the remotest bit tired any longer.

When Dwalin pulled away to breathe Bilbo all but climbed on Thorin’s lap to pick up where Dwalin left off, and when Thorin pulled back to drag in great gasps of air, he found that Dwalin was nibbling on one of Bilbo’s ears, while one of his hands still tangled in Thorin’s hair.

"Anyone else want to head into the bedroom?" Dwalin asked. Thorin carefully helped Bilbo out of his lap and the three of them scrambled to the bedroom in an undignified rush.

Thorin knew that his bedroom was not what would normally be expected of a dwarven king’s room. There were no gold or jewelled decorations anywhere to be seen, although there were some pieces in silver – a mirror, a couple of small hinged boxes - that Thorin recognised as being made by his mother. The furniture was made of sturdy wood, with just a little dwarven knotwork carved into the wood. Dwalin had insisted on making the furniture himself, and while he could make the furniture solid and long-lasting, his taste in decoration was very simple. The knitted doilies on top of every flat surface provided a splash of colour, as did the vase of flowers that Thorin and Dwalin took it turns to replenish every few days.

The bed was the most traditional, elaborate thing in his room, more than big enough for three and covered in furs, and Thorin barely looked at it, far more focused on the sight of Dwalin helping Bilbo to wiggle out of his trousers and underclothes. His jacket and waistcoat were already off, and his shirt was mostly unbuttoned.

Bilbo still wore hobbit style clothes the vast majority of the time, which meant that he was in less layers, and therefore almost always the first one naked. Bilbo was the only one to occasionally complain about the unfairness of that.  

When Bilbo was completely bare, flushed and half-hard, he clambered up on the bed alongside Thorin, his fingers plucking at the fastenings of his formal court clothes while Dwalin stripped off his simpler overclothes and his light armour.

He bent down and kissed Thorin again, slower and more heated, his hand sliding all the way down Bilbo’s back as he did, giving his arse a cheeky squeeze if the way Bilbo jumped against him was any indication, before he knelt down to tug off Thorin’s heavy boots, and urging him to raise his hips to get rid of his trousers.

Bilbo gave a little huff of satisfaction when he manged to bare Thorin’s chest, his tongue lapping at his nipple just once before pulling back and blowing on the raised nub, and Thorin shuddered at the sensation.

(Thorin had very fond memories of the first time Bilbo had seen both his and Dwalin’s nipple rings, and the row of barbells under Dwalin’s cock. His eyes had widened in the same way they had during the first celebratory feast that Erebor had hosted, and he had certainly savoured his explorations of them.)

“Do you need help getting out of your trousers, love?” Bilbo asked Dwalin with an arch little smile.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Dwalin replied, plucking him off the bed and back on feet. Bilbo dropped eagerly to his knees, pulling at the laces of Dwalin’s trousers, and tugging them down his legs. “Hello again,” he said fondly to Dwalin’s mostly hard cock, and Dwalin snorted, gently scruffing up Bilbo’s hair, as he gave the underside of it a careful taste before standing up again.

“What would you like?” Bilbo asked them, his voice much lower and huskier than usual as he looked between them.

“I just want both of you,” Thorin breathed, not realising until then that he’d been touching himself as he watched Bilbo on his knees in front of Dwalin.

Dwalin and Bilbo exchanged a lightning fast look before they both grinned at him.

Thorin had never had any other lovers before these two, had never wanted any but these two. But he knew that both Bilbo and Dwalin had had lovers before him in the past, which meant that they often had Ideas that he was very appreciative of. He’d even walked in on them making Plans for him before now.

(He’d had no complaints about that, though.)  

“I think that we can work with that,” Dwalin replied, scooping up Bilbo to join him back on the bed.

Dwalin leant over and kissed him deeply, while Bilbo reached over them both, bare bum wriggling in the air, as he reached into their bedside drawer to get out the little vial of oil they kept in there.

As Dwalin kissed him, Bilbo licked his way down his body, paying particular attention to his nipples and the oddly sensitive skin on the inside of his elbow, before  dipping his fingers in the oil.

"May I?" Bilbo asked and Thorin pulled back from Dwalin's kiss to gasp out "yes!" 

Bilbo lightly rubbed is fingers over Thorin's entrance, and Thorin let out a shaky moan that he only repeated when Dwalin carefully grasped Thorin's length and started stroking him as slowly as Bilbo was preparing him.

By the time Bilbo had three fingers inside him, and Dwalin was circling the head of his cock in a surprisingly delicate motion, he’d also had to use his other had to stop Thorin from writhing of the bed.

Thorin became aware of himself babbling in both Khuzdul and Westron, both pleading for more and lists of broken endearments. Bilbo and Dwalin had been talking to him, and to each other, but he hadn't been able to focus on what they were saying, so when they stopped touching him, it took him by surprise. 

He gasped, and Bilbo reached up kissed him, petting his hair with his clean hand to soothe him.

“Easy now,” Dwalin said, his voice too breathless to be amused, and helped Thorin to sit up and arrange himself over his lap, his back to Dwalin's chest, and put a hand on his hip, the other arm firmly around his shoulders to hold him steady. "Is this alright?" he asked, his breath warm against Thorin's skin, and when he nodded frantically, Bilbo reached between them, slicking up Dwalin’s cock and helping position it, Dwalin grunting as he stopped himself from thrusting up too soon.   

Dwalin groaned at the same time as Thorin as he first breached him, and Bilbo sighed gustily as he watched them. Dwalin’s cock was big, and he had to go carefully, but it felt so _good_ inside him, and the piercings rubbed against him so perfectly and Thorin didn’t think that it could get any _better_ until Bilbo swallowed his cock down in the same moment that Dwalin started thrusting in earnest.

Thorin cried out, tossing his head back as Dwalin slid the hand on his shoulders down to his nipple and Bilbo’s tongue did something very clever beneath the head of his cock, and he found himself reaching for Bilbo’s hair, not to pull or guide him, but to have something to stroke and hold and caress.

“You feel so - ” Dwalin began, and then broke off to swear loudly. “So good, Thorin.”

And that pushed him over the edge, coming with a loud wordless cry into Bilbo’s mouth, before he was able to warn him. Dwalin cursed again, gripping him tighter for a few firm thrusts as he came, burying his face in Thorin’s hair.

Bilbo grinned at them both, his face flushed and wet with some of Thorin’s release that he hadn’t been able to swallow, his own hand busy between his legs. Dwalin carefully shifted him just enough so that they could grab Bilbo between them, and Bilbo came just moments later, from both of their mouths on his ears, and both of their hands stroking his cock.  

They collapsed together in a sweaty, panting heap for a long moment, before Thorin gently shifted Bilbo away from him so that he was lying fully in Dwalin’s arms, gingerly shuffled to the end of the bed, stood with a groan, and headed into the other room, his legs still feeling more than a little wobbly.

When he returned, bringing with him a damp cloth and a cup of water, Dwalin and Bilbo were exchanging soft kisses, although they shuffled apart to let him snuggle back in, sharing the cloth and the water gratefully.    

As Thorin settled down with Bilbo snuggled against his back, his own head resting on Dwalin’s chest, his arms around them both, Thorin knew that he would sit through however many stressful meetings it took, until the council were happy with however their wedding was going to be.

It was a small price to pay to be with those he loved.  

Just as Thorin’s eyes started to close, Bilbo sighed deeply against his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Thorin asked, fighting back against the wave of sleep that had been pulling him under.

“Hmm?” Bilbo replied. “Of course. I’m just happy.” Thorin couldn’t help but smile at Bilbo’s echo of his earlier word, and Dwalin’s arm pulled them all in closer together.

“Me too,” Dwalin said, his voice sounding serious aside from the faint note of amusement in it. “This is much better than wanking alone every night.”

Thorin snorted with laughter, and Bilbo tried to sleepily swat at him, before giving up and laughing as well.

“We should try and get some sleep,” Bilbo said, although he was still laughing a little. “Dwalin and I are having our official coronets designed early in the morning, and you know Fili and Kili will never let us hear the end of it if we’re late.” Dwalin grumbled something indistinct into his pillow at that, but it wasn’t long before a sleepy silence filled the room.

Thorin lay between them, basking in contentment, and in that moment between sleep and wakefulness he had a moment of sudden clarity.

“We _should_ go to the Shire,” Thorin announced into the silent room. Bilbo jumped a little, having been more than half way asleep, and Dwalin’s grumbles started up again.

“What, now?” Dwalin asked, and Bilbo snickered on his other side.

“I’m serious,” Thorin said. “We should go to the Shire and get married among your people.”

Bilbo was silent behind him, but he could feel Dwalin nod. “Aye. I’d like that. And not just for the pastries.”

“We wouldn’t get there and back again before our wedding here,” Bilbo protested.

“Nothing stopping us going afterwards,” Dwalin argued.

“You are honouring our tradition,” Thorin insisted. “We should do the same - meet your family, and make sure that your cousin is settled in Bag End and that your other cousin is leaving him alone, and pick up the belongings that you miss, and…”

“Goodness, we don’t need to plan it all out now, darling,” Bilbo interrupted, squeezing him a little. “I was being serious when I said that my family would make the guilds here look tame, but… I would very much like to dance around the Party Tree with you both.”

“Good,” Thorin said, his eyes beginning to close again.

Bilbo brushed a kiss against his shoulder, and then said, “Goodnight, Dwalin,” as he reached over Thorin to hold his hand.

“Goodnight, my prince,” Dwalin answered. Thorin didn’t need to open his eyes to see the smirk on his face.

“Oh no,” Bilbo protested. “We agreed that you would be the prince!”

As he drifted fully off to sleep, lulled by the familiar fond argument, Thorin hoped that he would never get used to being so lucky.


End file.
